Sunday, September 25, 2011

Six Sentence Sunday: WIP: Three Fur All

This is a snippet to my current WIP. October has escaped from her werewolf captor and he is on her heals. He won't let her go. Enjoy!
Fear stopped her in her tracks. The wolf barred its teeth, showing long curved fangs that were stained with blood. In between some of the teeth she could see the strings of flesh from its last meal. It was completely black with shinning yellow eyes. Its lips pulled back to show more of its teeth and she got the impression that it was smiling at her. Either way if she didn’t get away from him now, then she never would.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Six Sentence Sunday: WIP: Death's Dance

Here is a short tidbit to my latest work in progress. It's my first horror novel in a while. Setting the scene, Kerstin is a psychic who has been haunted by one entity for years that appears in her dreams. Now it seems he has stepped out of them. Enjoy!

He was close enough I could make out the folds in his cloak, see the tears in the fabric of his hood. It seemed someone had raked their claws through the black cloth and left it to hang in tatters around his form. He reached out to me, getting ready to touch my hand. Time slowed as he approached and the fog in the mirror thickened. I tugged on my hand again, but it didn't come. Everything in me had assumed that his hand would be skeletal, but it wasn't

Friday, September 16, 2011

Guest Post: Anastasia Rabiyah- In The Willow Woods-Oikoni Stone

My latest release is actually a re-release of the first erotic romance I ever wrote. It's a story about a young native man who falls for a woman who is not the same as him and doesn't belong to his tribe. He goes against his father's wishes and tradition to meet the woman. Once he's in her village though, he's soon captured and held against his will by the young woman's cruel master.
In the Willow Woods weaves together magic and romance, blending in a lot of historical tidbits from cultures around the world. It is loosely based in a Viking era, but the underlying magic in the story gives it something unique. It's a coming of age romance that is sweet despite its eroticism. I hope readers will enjoy Nainie and Tiir's love story this second time around.
My inspiration for writing this story came from watching a lot of documentaries on native people. Culture, especially when it is people who live close to the land and do not rely on modern day conveniences, has always fascinated me. It's the simplicity of the hard work, the day to day struggle to survive and the appreciation of life each day that I find endearing. It is something those of us in modern day entrapments can still relate to. Things go wrong, and we can either accept that and keep at it, or give up. Despite the trials and failures thrown in the paths of the hero and heroine in this story, they both continue to push on and make the best of what they have.
In the process, they find love and friendship, family, a home they build themselves, and a future full of possibilities. In the Willow Woods is as timeless as a romance today.
Check out this and many other stories from me at:

Step into the magic of the Willow Woods where Nainie, the son of a dryad and a shadow spirit, has come of age to take a wife. He longs for the woman in white who lives across the river, but venturing beyond his clan’s boundaries is forbidden...and dangerous.

Even before their first kiss, Nainie knows Tiir is the only woman for him. The ripples in the river move toward her rather than away. Her eyes are like the lake when the noonday sun touches the water’s surface, blue and placid, bespeaking another place far from the stone city where she resides. She is different, but he feels she is the same as him—one who stands apart from those of her clan.

They come from different worlds—his, a wilderness life of magic, promiscuity, and cultural hierarchy—hers, a mysterious stone walled village he is not allowed to enter. After gathering his courage, he crosses the wall and finds himself in a cold, ordered world of slavery to a cruel master. Ensnared in her master’s hold and unable to get word to Tiir that he is being held captive, Nainie must rely on the kindness of strangers to plan his escape and find her again.

Nainie crossed his hands in his lap and leaned forward, watching the mysterious woman from his vantage, hidden among the draping branches of a willow. Sea green leaves caressed his bare arms and tickled his back. His thick strands of looping black hair waved in the light breeze, forcing him to brush aside tendrils that fell in his eyes and shrouded his view. He dropped his hand and squinted at her pale brilliance. The woman wore white, a swathe of pale cotton fabric that hugged her curves and covered her so much that it offered her modesty—a rare thing in his clan. Every morning he ran from his village in the willow woods and climbed this same tree, his bare feet gripping the gnarled trunk and his fingers lodging in each available crevice until he reached this same lookout. I wish I knew her name. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

She knelt beside the river, her eyes downcast and her honey-colored hair drifting just as unruly in the breeze as his. The woman pulled the leather strap from her shoulder and dipped her head beneath it in order to retrieve the clay jug balanced on her back. The ripples across the river moved toward her rather than away, a small detail that entranced him.

Nainie puckered his lips in a wind whisper when the side of her fabric wrap fell off her left shoulder, revealing more of her fair skin and the top of her small, round breast. She dipped the jug into the water and waited. The water filled fast. After pulling the jug free, she wiped the lip with delicate fingers. The woman adjusted her clothing, hiding her body, and he pouted at the loss of such a tempting view.

Beyond the white plastered wall, her clan called to her in feminine voices and Nainie sighed, disappointed. She would go, as she always did, and he’d not see her until the following morning.

He swung his bare feet in mid-air, waiting for her to hurry along the stone-lined path. Her clan is unusual, he decided. People should live in the open, not behind rocks.
When she disappeared beyond the high berry bushes, he slid forward and dropped to the ground, landing with ease on the thick blanket of leaves covering the willow wood floor. The tassels on the edges of his loincloth tickled his legs. He glanced over his shoulder. The stone path the woman took wound away from the river’s edge, and he could see the smooth prints her sandaled feet left behind. “Strange,” he whispered. “If I separated my skin from the earth, how would I know what lay beneath me?”

He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. “Tomorrow,” he said to the breeze. He knew he wouldn’t approach the woman. The thought always dwindled and vanished when he returned home to his own clan. He twisted his arms, stretching his waist before he burst into a steady run.

Willow branches whipped past him like leaf-crusted snakes. He dodged them, his bare feet soundless over the ground. Chasing his shadow all the way home came as second nature just as his ability to blend with and become a creature of shadows. Nainie was not like the others in his clan; he couldn’t shift into the shape of trees although he could hear their voices on the winds. He longed to find a woman like him, one who stood apart as he did.

Soon he smelled the single fire in the bointpit. He slowed and inhaled the scents of his clan, tanned leathers, roasting meat, and the sweet perfume of the maidens who wove jaiga flowers into their hair. Nainie stopped at the edge of the village.

Three longhouses made of wood and mud mixed with fallen leaves stood around the bointpit. In time, he knew he would stand there and take his first wife. He blushed at the thought and wondered who his father would choose. I want the river girl, he thought. His body burned at the thought of her. He clenched his fists and frowned. What would it be like to taste her lips? To touch her skin?

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Guest Post: Elise Hepner- Roped Emotions

One of my main issues with fantasy and sci-fi romance is that it requires magical world building skills that some guy with a wand gave out and I was absent that day because I was playing with a sorting hat. I just don’t have the kick ass skills or the patience to bring a whole entire alternative universe to life anytime soon unless someone puts a gun to my head. Anyway, if that’s the case I wouldn’t be able to write a thing so whoever was holding said gun to my head would be awfully disappointed.
So, bottom line, I can read alternate universes with no problem but writing them is a different matter all together. That is, until I realized, I’ve been writing alternate universes all along. And no—it wasn’t because I was secretly going back in time through my dreams ala The Winter Sea (which I’m currently reading and loving)—it’s because the majority of my submissions in the past few months have a fairytale slant or a fairytale redux, if you will.
These novella’s and novels are all set in different worlds—not all of them contemporary—but because I had my nice little security blanket of working off a base story my world building was actually quite fun. For some reason it’s quite different to carve out your own world from a base world that’s all ready been erected by a previous story. To me it seems safer or like I’m dabbling but there aren’t gobs of pressure to make sure every alternate reaction has a reason, a ramification, or a bible of separate characters. It would all hurt my head after a time.
Take my novella Roped Emotions for instance, I knew the score going into writing it. My Rapunzel was trapped in the castle before the prince had “come to her rescue” with little more to do than learn her mother’s rules of conduct and the basic commandments of fears that kept her in the tower. See that little tweak there? That’s world building and I didn’t even have to introduce an alien race with reasons for existing or figure out what kind of secret, twisted grudge my heroine has with another planet. Because my Rapunzel has a grudge with herself—knowing the realities of stepping out of a tower with ever-growing magical hair—not going to bring about a happily ever after.
Not in this world.
So, being progressive and horny as all get out, my Rapunzel takes it upon herself to get back at her mother for keeping her locked up with rules and regulations that she can now see some truth to. When her persuasive orders to get away from her tower are ignored by the handsome Prince Samuel as he climbs through her window, she seizes the moment. It’s all sexy goodness, falling in love, and the world inside her head that she must do battle against from there. My fairytale story the heroine doesn’t need to be saved by a hero with an ego to stroke. Oh no, she needs to be saved from the harsh realities of her thoughts and her situations—where does she fit in and how will her life get any better? Inside her mind, her thoughts are the only other world she’s ever known.
World building is pretty magical, huh? Baby steps.

Rapunzel is trapped by the harsh, inescapable reality of her prison, so she builds vivid sexual fantasies where she has full control and no one can take it away. If nothing else, at least she has command over her thoughts.

When Prince Samuel climbs into her tower it’s a small, satisfying excuse to break the rules—until his gentle touch coaxes out her trust. But it’s not enough. No longer can she keep her dark, sexual secrets inside. Rapunzel yearns for rough, passionate sex—a way to unlock her sensual freedom for good.

Vulnerable but unable to turn back, Rapunzel leads Prince Samuel on an intimate journey to define their sexual limits while twisting their definitions of control forever.


“What in Christ’s name…”
I must be hearing echoes from the town nearby, where Mother sells her herbs and braided goods. No one ventures this far toward my tower because Mother’s gone to great lengths to see that they don’t—bear traps are her new favorite method of discouragement. Once one life is claimed, I imagine word spreads fairly quickly to stay away from the area. Why then are there hoof beats that make my head pulse with a slight pain?
There’s no understandable excuse I can delude myself with any longer. Before I can focus on the consequences, I swing my head out the window into the oppressive, humid summer air. Just the very top of his head is visible, his hair brushing past his cheekbones, glowing from the sunshine and shot through with gold. Never have I seen a color so close to my own before—not that I see many people.
For a few moments I can’t quite come to terms with his presence and it’s not for a lack of staring that my pulse inevitably echoes inside my head like an overbeaten drum. This is my chance. Mother won’t be back for quite some time with her wares. He’s circling the tower, slouched over a horse who looks a bit like a nag. Certainly not a proper horse for a man with such fine clothes in gorgeous colors and sumptuous fabrics.
There’s no going back from this moment. It’s a certainty that makes my teeth chatter in a wash of cold fear, despite the heat, and my hands clasp around my middle as I try to hold myself together. He hasn’t looked up yet, more intent on studying the free-standing structure than noticing my shadow plastered across the grass. My mind is desperately working out what I’ll cry out to him. Even as my throat closes with an infusion of happiness that makes me rock on my feet.
“Excuse me?” A tentative question I’m not sure he will hear because it can’t be any louder than a frightened whisper. “Sir, you’re really not supposed to be here.”
Somehow, I’ve managed to make this part louder because he glances up—and his slack-jawed expression is a blow to my chest. He possesses the most gorgeous cobalt blue eyes. Underneath my ribs, the pain grows until taking a full breath is hard. Mother is right, he hasn’t even overcome his shock as my heavy plait of hair rests down the stone side of my prison. He’s not to be trusted.
What am I thinking? He won’t even come near me to aid my escape and his eyes are swamped in confusion—and there’s a flash of unreadable emotion that I refuse to question. He must leave here now and I must somehow convince him to bring no one back with him. I won’t be paraded around for anyone’s amusement. This man has made a mistake coming here.

Yet, there’s still a part of me that grips the windowsill until my palms are numb and that clings to the hope that he will at least acknowledge me. So long since I’ve had any kind of normal conversation. One that didn’t revolve around my hair, my rules or my mother’s day. Won’t he say anything? I’m as trapped by his thick silence as I am by the beauty of his face.

“Please, you must go and tell no one about what you’ve seen. You shouldn’t have ignored the traps. They are there for a reason.”
I don’t know how I’ve gotten that all out because my main focus lies on the foreign stirrings of heat in my cheeks as the pulsing sensation twists lower in my abdomen. What is happening to me? With a certainty that surprises me, I find myself clenching my thighs together, only to have the subtle touch of flesh-on-flesh be more than I can bear. He has yet to take his gaze from mine and a shudder slips up my spine.

“How long have you been here?” His voice carries the strain I hold back and I’m slightly put at ease that at least we are on similar ground. “Who did this to you?”
“For a man who is about to leave, I don’t believe it matters.”

The words barely tumble out of my mouth before I clamp my hand over my lips. I hadn’t meant to be so harsh and instantly regret it. He is so handsome—and these sudden urges, they are overwhelming and confusing to the point where I wish to completely remove the problem. My lips part in an apology and I watch a jovial grin span from ear to ear as he laughs at me until I can’t hear anything but the frantic beat of my heart.

Who is this man? Now he stares at me with a playfulness that washes a wave of goose bumps across my flesh. He doesn’t seem offended, merely amused at my suggestion that he leave. To further that fact, he quickly dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby tree branch. While I can only stare at the way his tight riding boots and breeches hug his muscular body from his calves all the way up to his perfectly rounded buttocks.
Though I’d learned of desire from my mother—and all its wicked principles—I never expected it to rear its head in my lonely, simple world.

However, now my life spirals out of control quickly enough that I tilt back against the wall to my left and watch with trembling hands. This mysterious man climbs the wall of my tower as if it had been built to be climbed so easily—without any aid from my hair. One strong, sun-kissed hand and booted foot at a time. When he offers up his hand to me to pull him over the side, what choice do I have? Even a man that strong would eventually grow tired and plummet to his death—and I want him tucked close to my body, not on the ground.
“I was beginning to wonder what it took to get some assistance.”
He softly grunts and clasps my hand hard enough that I gasp as I shift my weight to pull him over the side. Muscles I didn’t know existed inside me burn with sharp pain from disuse because of my isolation. His touch radiates heat all along my arm. If it wasn’t for his precarious situation, I would fight to pull away on instinct—but as it is, he manages to throw himself into my home with as much grace as a charging boar—and he trips, falling on top of me and sending us to the hard, stone floor.
His surprisingly soft hand brushes the hair out of my face and lingers, gently stroking, down my cheek. Should I be frightened? Probably. At the moment I can’t bear the thought that my first sincerely gentle touch from a man would be anything but special. His sharp leather scent surrounds my tingling skin.
“Isn’t this a day for surprises?” His gaze cuts through all the fear inside me and his mouth holds the subtle curve of a half smile. “I should move myself off  you, this isn’t proper at all when we’ve barely been introduced.”
Yet he doesn’t move an inch.
A realization whips through my mind and would have left me on the floor if I wasn’t already pinned there by a gorgeous man who touches me with such reverence I might weep. When will this happen again? After this twisted, meandering path of fate, there is no doubt I will be alone again—and I want a loving memory to cling to at night when my old fears tighten my chest until I can’t breathe. This is a choice I can make for myself. And I won’t live the rest of my ordinary, sheltered life not knowing true passion when it burns across my skin.
“They call me Rapunzel.”
His inviting smile lights up my whole world.
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Monday, September 12, 2011

Jerry and the Portal Part 2: The Continuing Saga of the Coffin in my Dining Room

I do apologize to everyone for not posting last week, but I decided to go into the other realm and search for Bob, the butler. Time runs differently there so even though I had been there for a couple of days I realized a whole week had passed. Sorry about that.

So I think my owner was telling you about the moment that Bob got sucked into the portal to the other world and the Living Dead Dolls were worshipping said portal. Granted the portal was in the middle of my wooden interior, but someone, I was able to have an out of coffin experience and slipped into the other world.

During my trip, I noticed the other world made me into a coffin that had arms and legs so it was easier to walk around and not hobble the way I normally do. It was a nice feeling to have legs and arms. If only there were some female coffins around to keep me company boy would I have loved to feel their wood. They have such great curves.

Sorry getting off track, but thinking about them gets my wood hard. Anyway the landscape around me was barren, a dessert with flat nothing except two silver poles shaped like tuning forks. There was no one around so I worked my way over to the poles and right before I got there, a tall man dressed in a black suit stepped out holding a silver ball in his hand. He had white hair and a stern expression on his face. The splinters in my coffin wood froze in fear. I knew who this guy was. All the coffins in the world did. He was our worst nightmare. He and his minions would crack my brethren open and steal the people who were inside of us for his insidious plans. Then out stepped Bob dressed the same way.

The tall man was trying to convery the butler into being one of him servants. I couldn't have that. The man pointed at me and sent the ball flying at me. I used my lid and whacked it back at him. The silver ball, his instrument of death, hit in smack in the head and sent him flying into the portal behind him.

Bob seemed to rouse from the stupor he was in. I grabbed his green skinned hand and jerked him. I landed hard on my back and Bob fell through my interior. The air was sucked around us and the next thing I knew we were both back in my owner's house and the portal was closed. Bob was still in shock so he went back to his place behind the televesion set. The Living Dead Dolls had returned to normal, and climbed back inside of me to rest. I knew it was a close call, but I'm still on high alert.

I might have rescued Bob from the tall man, but he still lingers. I can feel the tingling of my insides when I think the portal might reopen again. But for now I am vigilent. I have to find someway to tell my owner that she might come home one day and find a tall man in her house and that all her Living Dead Dolls have become his servants. But they are already a little messed up sinc they enjoy the taste of human flesh. But what can you do? They're dead.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Purple Sword Sept. Blog Party- A Little Peek at Her Guardian's Heart

My most recent release with Purple Sword is Her Guardian’s Heart. It is a M/M/M/F about a woman who has been shunned from her family and driven into the arms of two unlikely mates. It is filled with adventure and sexy men who want to fulfill the every desire of their beloved mates until danger comes calling and they have to fight for her soul. Until her family comes calling and tries to bring her back to her coven.  From there all hell breaks loose.

The inspiration for the book came from a dream actually. I saw one of the most important scenes in the book while I was dreaming. The two main love interests were fighting Melina’s family. The image was so clear in my head that I started building a story behind that where the vampire and the werewolf are protecting the heroine. In my dream, both of the heroes died but of course that doesn’t happen in my book. After that an angel entered my dream and was interacting the heroine and well things just went from there. I built a while world where I wasn’t expecting to do what I did and it was like worlds collided.

I never know what is going to happen with the characters once they take on a life of their own. This book took me by surprise because the last scene in the book was not expected with everyone pilling into the bed. Although it was fun and wants to make me dive into their world and see if other Guardian stories will arise because I know there are a few more devils who might want to try and escape from Hell. And we all gotta love sexy men with wings.


All contestants must email the following information to, subject line SEPT BLOG EVENT in order to qualify for one of the prizes: The authors names and the inspiration for each of their books.

The prizes are as follows: 1st place: A kindle e-reader 2nd place: A Purple Sword print book of choice 3rd place: A Purple Sword ebook of choice.